By Anonymous bc poems are embarassing, 11 October 2021
Tramp - A Saga
“Have fun but stay safe,”
“You won’t be needing that,” “Have you packed extra pants?” And “It’s not a race!”
The last minute packing of
‘Not’ forgotten things Excitement, this much?
Can only mean one thing.
Off to the mountains!
The summits!
The slopes!
Or maybe, just maybe,
A well trodden road.
You joke about saying,
It's the journey that counts!
But how you only say that Once the journeying’s out. Singing and laughing
And feeling quite proud.
How tough and undaunted
And hard-core we are.
The sign posts,
Less frequent,
More ominous too,
Let you know yet again
You are far out and true. Ploughing right on,
Till there’s more potholes
Than road,
You come to the edge,
The line between worlds.
The brink of a new one
Who knows what it holds. Scraping together
Some last minute pluck. Scraping higgledy piggledy Packs from the trunk.
Deep breaths are taken, Thinking thoughts, strong. Encouragements made,
The maps not thaat long.
The winds howl with the trees, They yodel in sync.
Each step snaps a twig;
Nerves rise then they sink. Joining the dots,
In one huge constellation, Leaping the mud,
with growing elation.
Each corner, each rise,
Each faux peak
Taunting your eyes.
Step after step,
After backbreaking step.
Is that a gleam,
Of a ramshackle roof?
Or is it just lacebarks,
With lichen-y roots?
You get into a rhythm
Left leg after right
Eyeing your foot holds
(And missing the sights.)
The incline increases
The tree line falls back Surrounded by grasses
Where the heck is the track? Leatherwoods loom
In their waist high masses
While Aciphylla horrida
Tangle your laces.
Each step, feels like your last.
In need of a sanctuary.
“Land ho!” At last!
There is a glimpse of that
Gastly DoC ‘green’!
Throwing your packs down, Damp clothes spread on the floor. Digging out new socks,
Blankets and more.
Challenging eyes
Invite a few rounds of cards Then another,
And another,
Mountain air takes its toll.
Into bed at half six?
Unheard of but swell.
Empty cup o’ soups,
The fire dies down.
Snores rock up from the bunks, Dew sprinkles the ground.
Into the night.
The stars come out.
Winking and playing
You’re wide awake now.
The possums shriek,
Morepork yowl at the stars
The wind picks up
Yeah, tired now.
In the morning,
you wake up cold.
Everything hurts,
Those feet can’t be yours. Grumbling and groaning
And giggling still too,
Trying to work out
Whose muddy boots who's.
Grabbing some feed;
You don't feel like much. Exhilarated still,
But more like a slug.
Setting off,
Obscenely fast,
Gotta make those pretzels last. It goes in a flash
But drags on and on. Reminding yourself
For the billionth round
It's the journey that counts?
... But the car sounds so warm! Have we been here before?
Is that mossy cairn new?
Are we walking in circles?!
If only we knew.
When something at last,
A glimmer of hope,
“Ayyyy! Dude!
You see that sign too?!”
Your feet feel lighter.
Your back might not ache, You’re like Dasher
Or Donner.
Hell yeah it’s a race!
Tripping and flying,
Your legs can’t keep up.
Not really caring
‘Bout the knee deep, Thick mud. The end is in sight.
We knew that the whole time.. The journey did count but
The finish line’s fine!
Collapsing gleefully
In the back of the car:
“I’ve got dead legs!” and
“Ew; prune feet!” and
“Ow! My scratched arms”...
Yet we all think ‘life’s sweet!’